


Shared

by cleoselene



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleoselene/pseuds/cleoselene
Summary: A malignant sorcerer for Nilfgaard Geralt and Yennefer were tracking spells them to revert to their "natural" forms for a night - Yen has not ascended or been enchanted for beauty, and Geralt is not a Witcher.  Together, they must hide temporarily without their powers and face a long dark night of vulnerability with each other
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	Shared

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't read the books at all don't get mad at me! I'm a tv viewer!
> 
> don't ask me where this falls in the timeline. It's cave angst. just roll with it.

“Does it hurt?” 

It was the first thing he said, and she was surprised. _“Does it hurt?”_ Not, “it doesn’t look so bad,” or some other placating words. Concern. It was different than he was accustomed to seeing her, and here she was, twisted and different, and he didn’t want her to be in pain. She could see it in the crunched furrow of his brow. In the way his thoughts sounded like a frantic symphony.

“Sometimes,” she said after a moment, and the sound of her voice with that strange twisted mouth startled her. She hadn’t heard that voice in decades. “No, that’s a lie. All the time. My back,” Yennefer moved a hand to her lower back, “there’s a lot of pressure. And sometimes, when I do too much, it’s hard to breathe.”

Geralt reached out, trying to conjure a small spell to take her pain, but the magic didn’t come, and he made a grunt of frustration. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment before looking through his pack, pulling out a small bottle. “Try this, it should help.”

She smiled a little. She enjoyed being more powerful than him, even with her crooked spine. He was still a good fighter, but he was no longer a mutant, just as she was no longer enchanted and beautiful.

Geralt, however. 

Gone was the brittle grey hair, replaced with thick brown curls. The strange yellow eyes were now a brilliant blue, his pasty skin vibrant and alive. 

If they’d had another djinn, maybe they’d have gotten two out of their three wishes. She was not enchanted, as powerless as a pig farmer, and he was no longer a Witcher. Only it wasn’t really like that, just an illusion, a spell, a glamour. Underneath these looks and Geralt's frustrations at being unable to access their powers for the moment, they were both the same. Yennefer still had no womb. It was a trick, sent by chaos only knew who, and they had to deal with it, but she did not expect Geralt to be so… kind about her true appearance.

It wasn’t as if they were known for their polite repartee. 

Only Istredd had wanted her like this, but even then, he had looked at her in a way that was different. Like he wanted her to know he saw her on the inside, that he knew she was beautiful underneath. Like a charitable love, congratulating himself for his enlightened lack of vanity. But Geralt looked at her and still saw her, somehow. She could tell by the way he reached out and touched her face, her twisted jaw, with such tenderness, even though it made her flinch at first.

Tenderness. That was Geralt in a word. It was so curious to her; she didn’t understand it. No one else in the world had ever offered it to her. Oh, of course, their conversations were filled with tart comments, endless sarcasm, and their couplings were often heated and rushed. But not always. Sometimes, when he kissed her, his thumb on her chin, it was with a gentleness that made her shiver. It was almost painful, almost made her want to scream, to claw through his leathers and ask him what right he had to be so fucking sweet, except that she craved it, desperately, like a starving woman.

She popped the cap of the small potion bottle and swallowed it down, closing her eyes as his hand lingered on her face, his rough, calloused fingers getting to know this new shape of her. The effect was almost immediate and when she opened her eyes they glowed just a little brighter shade of purple.

“Thank you,” she said, barely more than a whisper as she set the potion bottle down on the table next to her. Geralt’s thumb brushed over her lips and she closed her eyes. “We have to fix this,” she whispered, exhaustion in her voice. Riding a horse for hours with a hunched back was more exhausting than she expected.

“We will, Yen,” Geralt said softly, leaning in and touching a soft kiss to her forehead. “But I’m not sure how. It was a temporary glamour as far as I can tell. I think the best course of action is to wait it out in this cave,” he paused, “would you like me to hunt us something to eat?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Yennefer demanded, a little too sharply. “Neither of us should be going out there without magic.” Geralt shrugged and looked down at his armor, as if to say he could still fight. “And don’t try to tell me you’re fine. You’ve spent over a century with Witcher powers. You’ve no idea how to cope without them.”

“Yen--”

“I can feel it, you know. The spell. It’ll wear off within a day. Long enough for that bastard to getaway. Long enough to throw us both off and get into our heads. Don’t let him, Geralt. Ignore all of this, stay inside the cave,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the both of them. “If we dwell on it, that sorcerer out there wins.”

Geralt just stared at her.

******************************

He couldn’t stop staring. He was seeing her with new eyes. With human eyes. 

She was a vision. 

No, she didn’t have her crooked spine fixed. Her jaw was out of joint. She hunched when she walked. But she was still Yennefer. She still had the beautiful violet eyes, the skin bronze as as a shimmering statue, the shapely legs. She still spoke to him with same tart remarks, not shying away now that she looked different.

He wished he could say the same. He felt naked and strange as he ran a hand through his hair, as his eyes saw things in a strange new way it almost made his head spin. It was vivid and not at the same time, and it was starting to give him a headache. He focused on Yennefer, the plump shape of her lips, even when they frowned their disapproval. He remembered the way those soft pillow lips felt against his, and he could still inhale the scent of lilacs and gooseberry that he always smelled when she was near.

“I think that’s a shit idea,” he said bluntly, sliding a hand over her crooked cheek, gently brushing his thumb over it. “Because you’re so beautiful and we are going to be so bored.” 

Entranced, he leaned in for a kiss, but he pulled away almost as quickly. “Forgive me. I didn’t even think --- what if you don’t want me anymore?”

He was chastened at the thought, and he was not prone to vanity, only desire. Yes, he looked at Yennefer and he saw the flaws; of course he saw the flaws. He knew the way the world must have treated her all those years before Aretuza made her into the beauty he met. And yet he wanted her still. She was still Yennefer.

But he wasn’t prepared -- though in hindsight, perhaps he should have been -- for the sharpness of her reply.

********************************

“I am not a figure of your bloody pity, Geralt! Beautiful?" She scoffed, “Should I curtsey, Sir Witcher, and ask you graciously for deigning to find me acceptable?” 

Yennefer extended a hand and gestured dramatically toward Geralt, “Look at you!” Her voice was practically a shriek. “You’re fucking perfect. Curls of golden chestnut brown, eyes of blue, muscles everywhere.”

Yennefer rushed toward Geralt and turned his face inspecting the spot on his right cheekbone where a scar used to be. 

“Look at this! Even your scars are gone! It’s almost as if you were never a Witcher in the first place! No battles, no near-deaths, no scars, no sacrifices!” 

Her anger didn’t seem soon to quell. “And you want me to forgive _you_ if I don’t want you anymore? As if your arrogant arse can even imagine such a scenario!”

“I can!” Geralt barked desperately, “I’ve not just been imagining it, I’ve been living it, ever since you left me on that mountain! Why should the way you look change the way you feel about me? You’re not some charity case, Yen!” He turned away with a frustrated growl before looking at her again. “But I can’t convince you of that. So we’ll sit in this cave in silence and share whatever I can hunt up nearby until this damn spell wears off.

“We’re never going to catch that sorcerer who spelled us,” Yennefer lamented, feeling awkward and cold and scared, three things she hadn’t felt in many decades. “He made sure of that by making this spell last until dawn. He’ll be miles from here before we’re back to our old selves again.”

But she wasn’t going to get back to her old self, she could tell. Maybe it was pure logic, or maybe it was just her own self-awareness of her body, or maybe it was just a hunch strong enough for her to believe with all her heart, but she knew not everything was restored. It was an illusion, a trick of the mind. Her womb was as barren as it was decades again when she surrendered it. Even if it were a fertile time, even if she could convince Geralt to bed her, it would be of no use.

She looked every bit the broken doll, but the working parts she had back then were gone.

And as she looked at Geralt, she wasn’t so sure she could get him to agree, anyway. Who would want her like this? Istredd? He was only spying for Stregobor, it wasn’t real. Or at least, that’s what she’s been telling herself. But Geralt didn’t want anything from her. He wanted to be with her, but he didn’t have the ulterior motive Istredd had.

Geralt excused himself, saying something about finding wood for a fire, and she nodded faintly. Losing this sorcerer or not, they had to stop.

What was it Istredd had said the last time they parted, just before Sodden? Everyone has an ulterior motive, or something like that. Everyone wants something. She knew it was true for her. But what did Geralt want, besides her? No one saw the real, Istredd said, except for him. She hadn't the heart to tell him the truth. Geralt saw her power, wanted only her.

And even Istredd wanted more than just her.

*****************************************

The cave was out of the way, and he allowed Yennefer time to think while he gathered kindling and wood for a fire. It would be cold that night, and neither one of them had the magical means to make a fire at the moment, so they’d have to do it the old-fashioned way. He hunted, too, with a bow and arrow he kept with his pack, two fine fat rabbits his prize as he returned to the cave. He skinned them and cooked them and smirked faintly when Yennefer complained about the lack of a delicious sauce to adorn the rabbit, as well as a suitable wine. Spoiled, he thinks. But he doesn’t mind. He found it… endearing, in a way.

After dinner was over and the last bottle of wine from the pack long gone, Geralt spoke up.

“We should sleep.”

“We certainly ought to,” Yennefer said, “but I’m not sleeping a wink until I have my powers back. Don’t worry, Geralt. I’ll watch your back if you like.”

“Hm,” Geralt grunted. If Yennefer was staying awake, he was certainly going to do the same.

They sat in silence for what felt like eternity, but was in reality mere minutes, staring at each other, unrecognizing.

“I miss your grey hair,” Yennefer finally said.

Geralt gave her a crooked smile, running a hand through the brown curls now on his head, “I have to admit, I had no idea it would be this curly.” He looked at her for a long moment, quiet, before speaking, “Did you really think you weren’t beautiful like this?”

Yennefer’s face hardened and she looked away. “I told you I missed your grey hair. Couldn’t you have told me you missed my straight spine?”

“No,” Geralt said plainly.

“Well, why the bloody hell not!” Yennefer turned to Geralt with a screaming flash of anger.

Geralt looked at her as if the answer were so simple, “because the price has made you so unhappy. And I’d have wanted you regardless.”

Yennefer just stared at him. 

The dawn would come.

This conversation would be forgotten, or it wouldn’t be.

Maybe they would keep talking.

Maybe they would keep fucking, and fighting, and leaving each other.

But for now, Yennefer just stared.

And the way Geralt stared back made every part of her burn.


End file.
